


Waking Up

by wowbright



Series: Glee Season 4 episode reactions [12]
Category: Glee
Genre: Episode: s04e15 Girls (and Boys) on Film, M/M, skank!Klaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5111867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wowbright/pseuds/wowbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Klaine Week 2013. Today’s theme: skank!Klaine. </p><p><a href="http://catyuy.tumblr.com/">catyuy</a> requested  skank!Kurt and skank!Blaine trying to figure out what new color to streak their hair with. <a href="http://the-rainbow-jen.tumblr.com/">the-rainbow-jen</a> requested a story that showed how skank!Kurt or skank!Blaine became a skank. <a href="http://travelingpact.tumblr.com/">travelingpact</a> asked for skank!Klaine in punk bands. <a href="http://judearaya.tumblr.com/">judearaya</a> asked for Skank!Kurt climbing onto Blaine’s lap and a heated makeout session.</p><p>And somehow my brain mashed together all these concepts and turned them into a 4.15 reaction fic.</p><p><strong>Notes:</strong> Crack, kink and feels. R for not-very-graphic sex. Not beta'ed - I won’t be offended and will probably will be pleased beyond measure if you point out any typos to me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> Originally on [tumblr.](http://wowbright.tumblr.com/post/45243631776/fic-waking-up-415-reaction-r)

“Light?” Blaine says, pressing a cigarette between his lips in a way that makes Kurt think of blowjobs.

Kurt leans forward on the couch and touches the lit end of his clove cigarette to Blaine’s American Spirit, keeping eye contact as Blaine inhales to draw the fire in. His cigarette catches fire and he leans back into the couch cushions, leaning his head back to watch the smoke curl out his own nose and rise to the bleachers above them.

“With all the eye-fucking you two do, it’s a wonder no one’s gotten knocked up yet.” It’s a girl’s voice, one that Kurt recognizes but can’t place.

He turns to find the Chicana girl with the blue hair leaning against one of the support beams. He doesn’t know her name, even though he has this vague idea that they’ve been hanging out together for months now, if not years. “Don’t get your panties in a wad, Dani,” he says. Oh, okay. That’s her name. Right. “We always practice safe eye-fuckery.”

Kurt reaches over to Blaine’s inner thigh seam and starts dragging his hand up and down it. Blaine makes that little stilted breath that means he’s turned on and trying to keep quiet. Kurt loves that sound.

Kurt looks at Blaine and smiles. Blaine smiles back.

Dani makes an annoyed elephant sound. “You guys are so boring. I’m gonna look for Quinn.”

“Suit yourself,” Kurt says, watching her with apathy as she storms off.

It’s not until she’s gone and he’s in the middle of taking another drag on his clove cigarette that the full extent of his current situation dawns on him: He’s sitting on a skanky used couch under the McKinley High School stadium bleachers. There’s a cigarette in his mouth. There’s a cigarette in Blaine’s mouth. Blaine is not wearing a bowtie, or a polo shirt, or a tasteful sweater from Brooks Brothers. He looks, in fact, a lot like Danny Zuko, except instead of having his hair greased back, it’s wild and curly, and by the look of the scruff on his chin, he hasn’t shaved in at least three days.

Kurt has no idea how any of this came to be.

He doesn’t remember getting up this morning or walking to school or coming into the stadium. He’s not sure what time of day it is, although he has a vague sense that he’s skipping class, so it’s got to be the morning or the early afternoon.

He’s never smoked before—that much, he _can_ recall. But the burn of the smoke entering his lungs isn’t irritating the way it ought to be; it feels comforting, like smelling his mother’s old perfume.

He looks down at his clothes. They’re not … completely unusual. He’s got on a black kilt, and a belt with a huge silver skull-and-crossbones buckle, and a foxtail is attached to his waist by a long chain. He’s wearing a skull-dotted Alexander McQueen scarf around his neck, and skull-dotted tights on his legs, and black combat-style boots that lace up to his knees. On his wrist is the black leather studded cuff he sometimes wears because it makes Blaine horny.

It’s his arms that surprise him. They’re … naked. Completely uncovered thanks to the tight sleeveless black tee he’s got wrapped around his chest.

He looks up at Blaine, who is looking at him moony-eyed, because Kurt apparently hasn’t moved his hand from the inside of Blaine’s thigh this whole time. Kurt’s suddenly embarrassed and pulls it away.

Blaine looks confused. “What? You don’t want to have sex anymore?”

Kurt scrunches his face. “Sex? Outdoors? At school? On this skeevy couch?”

Blaine’s eyebrows furrow in worry. “I don’t understand. We do it all the time.”

“We do?”

“Yeah.” Blaine scratches his scruffy chin, gets this distant, sort of glazed look in his eyes. “At least, I think we do. Except, now I can’t actually remember.”

Kurt grabs Blaine’s hand. It feels warm and solid and reassuring. Which is strange, given the words that are about to come out of Kurt’s mouth. “Blaine?” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t freak out.”

“Okay.”

“But I think we’re inside someone’s dream.”

Blaine looks at Kurt. He doesn’t panic the way that Kurt expects him to. “Like in  _Inception?”_

Kurt shrugs. “Maybe. But I was more thinking along the lines of that time that Tina hit her head and I turned into Finn and you turned into Puck. Do you remember that?”

Blaine nods. “Yeah. That was weird. I was really, really,  _really_  into girls. And terrible at algebra. It was disturbing.”

“Tell me about it. I was the one who was checking out Rachel’s boobs. Or maybe it was Tina’s. I can’t remember.”

“So … you think we’re inside someone’s dream and they turned us into skanks?”

Kurt looks down at their linked hands. At least that’s the same. “I don’t have any other explanation. We look like skanks, we act like skanks, but I have no memory of ever becoming a skank. My last memory is … Well, I don’t remember my last memory, but I think I was more modestly dressed. And maybe I was working at the Lima Bean?”

“So who’s dream do you think it is? Quinn’s? She’s the only skank we really know.”

Kurt shrugs. “I don’t know. Doesn’t everything in a dream disappear when the dreamer is gone? If that’s the case, it’s got to be one of us. Or maybe both.”

“Why would we dream that we’re skanks?”

Kurt takes another drag on his cigarette, considering. “Maybe –” He stops, turns the thought over in his head a few more times, and starts again. “Maybe there’s something that one of us wants to do, but we’re afraid of whatever it is. Like, maybe it doesn’t fit our idea of who we’re supposed to be. But it’s something a skank would do. So we turned ourselves into skanks to give ourselves permission. And once we do what we want, we’ll wake up.”

Blaine looks at the cigarette in his hand and flicks it on the ground. “I don’t ever remember wanting to smoke.” He combs his fingers through his hair. “Or go without gel. Sheesh, I can’t believe you can even bear to look at me right now.”

Kurt ruffles Blaine’s curls. “I don’t know. They’re kind of hot. You know, like Bob Dylan when he was 20.”

Blaine guffaws. “Bob Dylan? Seriously?”

“That’s the last time I tell you about any of my illicit attractions.”

Blaine squeezes Kurt’s hand and moves his lips in close to Kurt’s ear. “I’ll show you some illicit attractions.”

—

They’re not sure whose dream it is, so they decide to stick together so the non-dreamer doesn’t have the disconcerting experience of disappearing from existence until he’s seen again by the dreamer.

They go to Kurt’s house after school. His room’s different. The layout is similar, and most of the tchotchkes on his shelves are the same. The ampersand sculpture is still there, as is the glittering silver skull. The scepter and crown from junior prom are gone, though. And the linens on his bed are all varying shades of gray and black. His duvet, like his clothing, is also dotted with skulls.

“Do you think I was never Prom Queen in this universe?” Kurt says.

Blaine flops backward onto the bed. “I don’t know. Maybe in this universe, we ran over the crown with the Navigator until it was smashed into a bazillion pieces. You know, like we talked about doing in real life.”

Kurt nods. “Could be. I wonder.” He opens his closet. The contents aren’t much different from what he has in real life, except that nothing is a color. It’s all gray and black, and more of his pieces are covered with skulls than in real life. “Damn,” he says. “If we end up needing to go to a funeral before this dream is over, I’m definitely prepared.”

They go over to Blaine’s house next. Kurt’s not sure how they get there. It’s just – one moment they’re in Kurt’s room, the next they’re in Blaine’s.

Blaine’s room is … different. Gone is the pinstriped wallpaper and the plaid duvet cover and the fencing trophies. Three of the walls are a shade between gray and white, and the third is fire-engine-red. In its center is a large black-and-white poster of James Dean with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth.

Kurt considers it. “Maybe this is your dream. And you’re dreaming it because you want to look like James Dean.”

Blaine turns and pulls Kurt close to him, chest to chest, the slightest smirk lighting the corners of his lips. “Or maybe this is your dream. And you’re dreaming it because you want to fuck James Dean.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow and drags a finger down Blaine’s sternum. “Hmmm. That’s entirely possible. Although I think I’d rather fuck you.”

For some confusing reason, they don’t end up fucking right then. They keep looking through the room, searching for clues to the dreamer’s desire.

They find jars of temporary hair dye in Blaine’s bedside table. “Maybe one of us wants to dye our hair?” Kurt says.

They end up in the bathroom. Kurt’s bathroom, actually. It’s kind of weird how that happens, but this is clearly a dream, so they just go with it. It takes a while, but they finally decide on a streak of magenta for Blaine, because it complements his skin tone; and a streak of emerald green for Kurt, because it brings out the color in his eyes. Plus, magenta and green go nicely together. “Like a peony on its stem,” Kurt says.

It looks pretty awesome when they’re done. “Huh,” Blaine says. “I wouldn’t have thought this would look so good. Maybe we should try this when we’re both awake sometime.”

Kurt kisses Blaine on the scraggly cheek. “You  _do_  look pretty hot.”

But the dream doesn’t end there, so whoever’s dreaming must want something else, too. They end up going back to Blaine’s room and searching through the drawers. Kurt thinks he might have come across the answer when he opens Blaine’s bowtie drawer and finds that it’s full of handcuffs.

“Oh, Blaine, sweetie,” Kurt says. “You could have told me.”

Blaine peers over Kurt’s shoulder. “Jiminy Christmas. That’s a lot of handcuffs.”

Kurt turns to Blaine, whose pupils have grown to the size of Jupiter. “I think, Blaine, now that we’re skanks, you can swear instead of saying ‘Jiminy Christmas.’”

Blaine nods. “Okay.” He’s clearly incapable of much more speech than that, the way his eyes dart between the handcuffs and Kurt’s neck and Kurt’s lips.

So they try the handcuffs out. First on Blaine, then on Kurt. They both agree it’s much more fun when Blaine is chained up in them. So Kurt handcuffs a naked Blaine to the desk chair and climbs on his lap and grinds against him until they both come, hot and wet against each other, lost and found in each other.

Kurt doesn’t remember feeling this safe in a long, long time.

They’ll definitely have to try that out when they’re awake sometime.

Which should happen any minute now, now that they’ve found what they’re looking for. Except … it doesn’t.

—

It must be three weeks later now, and Kurt and Blaine are still skanks. Frankly, Kurt’s getting a little tired of it. Even if the cigarettes aren’t real, he can’t seem to stop smoking them, and he’s started to worry that they’re going to ruin his voice. They spend every lunchtime under the bleachers, and some of their classes. For a week in there, all the other skanks get suspended for setting the girls’ locker room on fire, and it’s nice having the under-bleachers all to themselves. They have sex on the hideous couch every day that week – occasionally incorporating the handcuffs – and no one bothers them. It’s hot, and since it’s only a dream and they don’t have to worry about cleaning up before or after, they don’t bother with condoms when Kurt fucks Blaine and Blaine loves that. “I’ll be able to feel you inside me for the rest of the day,” he hums happily, and Kurt rolls his eyes but, truthfully, it’s kind of endearing, and he ends up kissing a million  _I love you_ s into Blaine’s mouth.

And it’s literally a million, because this is a dream, and such things are possible.

Still, they don’t wake up.

There is no Glee Club in this dream universe, but it turns out that they’re both in a punk band with Tina and Sugar Motta. They mostly do Gwar covers, in full-on costume. Blaine says it’s one of the most liberating experiences of his life.

Still, they don’t wake up.

“I think we might be stuck here,” Kurt says one day. They’re spooned up on the couch, Blaine’s back warm against Kurt’s chest. “I should probably quit smoking, if that’s the case.”

“And maybe we should start going to class,” Blaine says.

“And apply to college.”

“Let’s be in the same year in school in this universe,” Blaine says. “And graduate at the same time.”

“I’d like that.” Kurt gives Blaine a squeeze.

Kurt starts remembering then. Out there, in their real life, Kurt’s graduated already. He’s in New York, and Blaine’s here in Lima still. But they’re apart in a deeper way than that. He can’t remember how, though, and he doesn’t really want to, so he doesn’t try.

“I think I know what we need to do to wake up,” he says quietly into the back of Blaine’s neck.

“But you just said –“

“Yeah, I know. But I think I just figured it out.”

“What is it?” Blaine says.

“It doesn’t really have anything to do with us being skanks.”

“Why are we skanks, then?”

Kurt shrugs. “Because dreams are weird. Or maybe there’s some underlying Jungian archetype that would explain it all. I don’t know. I’ve never read Jung.”

Blaine turns around in Kurt’s arms to face him. He’s shaved this morning, and put a little gel in his hair. Even with the magenta streak in his hair – maybe because of it – he looks a lot more like the real Blaine than he did when the dream first started. “So what do we have to do, Kurt?”

For the first time since the dream began, Kurt can see Blaine’s eyes with absolute clarity. The irises are the exact color and pattern they are in real life – specks of amber and honey flecked with maple and gold.

“Blaine,” he says, even though it pains him to, because speaking the words will mean that all of this is over. “We’re going to wake up soon – you or I or both of us. And I don’t think we’re going to be in the same place when we do.”

Blaine furrows his eyebrows. They’re like fuzzy little caterpillars, and Kurt loves that about them. He kisses them each.

“But I want you to remember, even if it doesn’t feel like it out there, that we’re going to find our way back to each other.” He feels the tears pushing against his eyes. Reality is beginning to encroach. He’s starting to remember too many things.

“Kurt, don’t be sad. I love you.”

“I know,” Kurt says. “And I love you. That’s why I’m never saying goodbye to you.”

—

Kurt jolts up in his bed. It’s still dark – or, the kind of half-dark that Kurt has become used to thinking of as night. The neon “Automat” sign is glowing its light in through the window.

His face is wet and he reaches for Blaine next to him, but the bed is empty except for himself.

Of course it’s empty. Blaine’s in Lima. Kurt’s in New York. Adam’s sleeping on the couch.

Kurt steps out of bed, pulling a sweater on over his pajama top. He steps to the window and looks out at the falling snow.

He wonders if Blaine’s just woken up, too.

—end—


End file.
